


Coming Home

by fhsa_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Lyric Wheel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-26
Updated: 2004-08-26
Packaged: 2019-02-05 17:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12798792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: The war is over; Walter and Alex come home.





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Thanks: My sincere thanks to Starfish for suggesting such lovely lyrics. Thanks also to Pollyanna for encouraging my first-time participation in the Lyric Wheel. 

 

Dedication: For Lorelei, always my friend 

 

 

Walter Skinner's hand shook as he turned his key in the lock. He closed the door to his apartment behind him with a sigh of relief. Finally, he was alone. 

 

Coming home had never felt so good. 

 

Skinner walked wearily into his bedroom; loosened his tie. Took off his FBI shield and laid it atop his dark wooden dresser. Added his watch and wallet in a neat pile. Reached automatically into his holster, then caught himself. His gun now lay somewhere in the bowels of the Hoover, tagged and bagged. Skinner shrugged. He wouldn't need to carry it anymore. This war was over. 

 

Skinner stripped and started the shower, wishing it were as easy to take off his shame as it was to take off his clothes. He had acted in defense of Mulder; he had done the right thing. He tried not to think of Krycek, sprawled frozen and broken on the icy concrete floor, nudging his gun towards him in surrender. 

 

"I won't need it anymore," Krycek had whispered, following the gun with the palm pilot, even as his green eyes dimmed under the harsh halogen light of the garage. "This war is over, Walter." 

 

Finally holding the palm pilot had melted all the chains from Skinner's soul. He had carried the slim black box slowly and gingerly out of the garage. 

 

Under the cleansing sluice of water, a triumphant grin suffused Skinner's face. The shame of knowing that he would do whatever it took to hold off the agonizing pain was now mercifully taken from him, buried deep in his memory. His personal war was over; his body was his own. He was finally safe again in his most intimate, physical home. 

 

The first phone call was from Mulder, relaying the joyous news that Scully had given birth and that her baby seemed fully human. Skinner was relieved that Scully and the baby were all right. Mulder was relieved that Skinner was all right and that the war was over. It was only a matter of days before Scully and Mulder would be coming home to DC. 

 

"What's the next battle going to be, Walter?" Mulder asked, thinking eagerly of X Files that still cried out for solutions. 

 

"That's going to be your call, Mulder. I won't fight here anymore," Skinner told Mulder. "I'm leaving the Bureau. I'm going to find myself a place in the country. Find me the sun, find me a sky." He laughed ruefully, aware that he sounded as if he were mouthing lyrics from a bad country-western song. "Assuming I find something I can afford." 

 

The second, far less happy phone call was from a chastened agent. Alex Krycek was gone. Flown. Free. His broken body had been carried slowly and carefully into the hospital. He had been left alone for less than ten minutes. No, he hadn't been chained or cuffed; in view of his injuries it had seemed unnecessary. 

 

Skinner cursed to himself. Goddamnit, the rat had nine lives. 

 

Skinner placed another call to Mulder and reluctantly conveyed the bad news. 

 

"The bastard's got more lives than a cat," Mulder agreed with Walter. "I'll look after Scully and the baby. We can disappear until Krycek's been located, or at least until we know whether he's acting alone. Oh, and by the way, sir, if you're interested, I have a place for you." 

 

"Mulder, stop talking in riddles," Skinner said wearily. "What do you mean?" It had been a long, draining day. He had almost lost Mulder. He had shot 

 

another man. He had scant patience left for Mulder's singular leaps of logic. 

 

"I have a place in New York, in the country, up in the mountains, which I inherited from a cousin on my mother's side," Mulder said patiently, as if nothing could be more obvious. 

 

"You have a place in New York..." Skinner was stunned. Mulder never ceased to surprise him. 

 

Mulder thought back to the last time that he had used the house. Alex Krycek had been young, just out of Quantico. They had just become partners. They would become lovers that weekend. 

 

Mulder grimaced at the memory. That he was gay was the least of Krycek's secrets; the only one Mulder had forgiven the man. At least Krycek had never used Mulder's own secret against him. 

 

Mulder forced his thoughts back to the present. 

 

"The house needs a little modernization, but it's basically sound. It's got a wood stove, a gas hot water heater and electricity. I've kept up with the taxes on it, but I haven't used the place itself in years. I'd been thinking about putting it on the market. You'd be welcome to it. I'd give you a very fair price. " 

 

"That's very good of you," Skinner said stiffly. "Thank you, Mulder." 

 

"The keys are in my desk, Walter. Blue key ring. I kept intending to get in touch with a real estate agent, but between coming back from the dead and Scully's pregnancy--" 

 

"Things have been a little hectic," Skinner finished with a snort of laughter. 

 

"Drive up and take a look at the house. Spend a few days, a week," Mulder continued. "If you like it, have your lawyer call my lawyer and let them draw up a contract." 

 

If Mulder hadn't been preoccupied with a weepy, postpartum Scully and a new and wakeful baby William, it might have occurred to him that a bird with a broken wing might seek out a familiar piece of sky to nest beneath. It might have occurred to him that another soldier whose war was over might also be coming home. 

 

There were long stretches where the traffic was light, and Alex was able to let his attention drift in relative safety. The drugs helped mute the pain, but did nothing for his overall weariness or for his double vision. The interchanges around the major cities were hard, as speeding commuters used to the road cut confidently in and out of lanes. The traffic thinned out above Albany. Alex drove past the summer towns, onto the old east-west route into the Adirondack Park. 

 

Alex laughed bitterly to himself. After everything Mulder had done to him, that he had also unwittingly shown him this perfect hideaway seemed the deepest irony of all. 

 

Fortunately for Alex, the roads were clear of either snow or mud, the twin banes of the North Country. Navigating mostly by instinct, his always keen sense of direction made sharper by necessity, Alex found the turn-off on the first try. Followed the old county road as it tacked around the shore of the lake, obscured even in winter by the persistent needles of evergreens. Felt himself growing fainter. Gritted his teeth. He was too close to give up now. 

 

Alex finally caught sight of the driveway marked with the twin pillars of piled stones, which Mulder had pointed out so proudly, so many years ago. 

 

Oh yeah, Alex thought bitterly. I'm coming home. 

 

The driveway was deeply rutted and impassable. Alex pulled his truck further up the road, into one of the many unofficial turnouts worn by local fishermen. 

 

Only sheer determination got Alex from his truck to the house. Several times he almost gave up, but though frozen and broken, he was still free, and he had no intention of dying outside. Coming home coming home coming home he repeated to himself, the mantra sustaining him on his journey. 

 

The lock was a simple drop latch; the door was easily forced. With the last remnants of consciousness he possessed, Alex noted the irony of a man whose credo was "Trust No One" giving security such short shrift. 

 

Alex closed the door behind him and sank to the floor. 

 

Take off my pain, I am alone, this war is over, I've come home. 

 

No one had been able to find any trace of Alex Krycek. The consummate triple agent had seemingly grown wings and flown away. As the week wore on, Skinner became more and more impatient. Mulder called daily to check on him; he sat endlessly in debriefing meetings. Finally at three o'clock on Friday, Skinner had had it. 

 

"If anyone calls, tell them I'm all right, I'm just taking some time alone," Skinner told his secretary as he walked out of the office. 

 

Walter Skinner enjoyed the long drive from DC to upstate New York. He had stacked his CD changer with his ten favorite jazz discs and the music both cheered and soothed him. By the time he reached New Jersey, he felt happier and more relaxed than he had in months. By the time he reached the mountainous region above Albany, he felt free in a way that he hadn't since he had first put on his FBI shield. He drank in the pleasure of sun and sky. This war is over, he thought; I'm coming home. 

 

Mulder's directions had been clear, and Walter found the house without difficulty. He parked his car at the top of the deteriorated driveway, took his flashlight from the glove compartment and with its help walked the few hundred yards to the house. 

 

The door opened too easily; Walter didn't even need to turn the key. Automatically he froze. He sensed another presence in the dark. He wasn't alone. 

 

Walter shone his flashlight methodically around the room. The light came to rest on a figure crumpled on the cold wooden floor. Walter left the light on the broken man for a long minute. 

 

"Don't shoot me again, Walter. Please," Alex Krycek said in a hoarse whisper. "I'm alone. I won't fight you anymore." 

 

Walter studied his fallen nemesis. Alex, like him, had been only a soldier in someone else's war. Walter sighed. This war was over. It was time to lay aside his sword and shield. 

 

"It's all right, Alex. I'm not going to hurt you anymore. This floor is ice cold. You're injured; you don't need pneumonia on top of everything else. I need to move you to a bedroom, Alex," he said gently. 

 

"Carry me slow, Walter," Alex begged brokenly. It was clear he was in terrible pain. 

 

"Very slow, Alex," Walter promised softly. "I'm just going to put you on a bed. I have to lift you. Shh, I know it hurts. Shh." 

 

Walter carried Alex into the bedroom and lowered him carefully onto the soft mattress. Alex buried his head low in the pillows, ashamed of the unwilling tears of pain streaking his cheeks. Walter stroked his hair gently. 

 

"I need the truth, Alex. Give it to me whole." 

 

"I don't remember what happened after you shot me. I don't know why I didn't die," Alex said. "I remember waking up at the hospital. I was alone, frozen with chills. My arm was broken, but I was free. No cuffs, no chains. I knew I wasn't going to get another chance." 

 

"Jesus Alex, I'd just shot you in the arm and in the head. How the hell did you manage to drive up here?" 

 

"Walter, I crawled out of that Russian camp with a bleeding stump where my arm once was. Your bullet lodged in my skull, not my brain; I still had my arm. Broken wing or not, I was going to fly." Alex sounded resigned to the pain. 

 

Almost unconsciously, Walter smoothed Alex's hair out of his green eyes, his fingers carefully skirting the ugly wound in his forehead. Alex took a deep breath. 

 

"What are you going to do with me, Walter?" 

 

Walter studied the dark man who had mercilessly jerked his chain over and over. He thought of the times that he would have sold his soul to have Alex in his power. Yet looking at the pale face, the gaping wound, the single arm, now broken, Walter felt only pity for his former enemy. 

 

"What do you want me to do with you, Alex?" 

 

Alex lowered his eyes, ashamed to his core. 

 

"Hold me," he whispered. "I'm frozen. I hurt so bad. Hold me. Fuck me first if you have to. But please, hold me." 

 

Walter felt a rush of shame. What sort of man did Alex think he was? 

 

"You don't have to bargain like that with me, Alex," Walter said quietly. "I'll hold you. The war is over now, Alex. You're safe. You're not alone. You're home." 

 

"Safe..." Alex mouthed the word unbelievingly. "Home..." Stunned, he sank back into Walter. 

 

Walter felt the last chains drop from his soul. Wordlessly, he stretched out alongside Alex, snuggled Alex to him. Alex whimpered involuntarily. 

 

"Are you all right, Alex?" Walter asked, not wanting to hurt him. 

 

"I'm all right," Alex whispered. He licked his lips. "Give me it, Walter. Give me your whole cock." 

 

Walter looked at Alex's frozen expression. Felt a wave of tenderness for this broken man who felt compelled to offer sex in exchange for comfort. 

 

"No, Alex. Let's take this slow. We're home. We'll have time for this when you're all right again. There are other things we can do now, like sleep." He brushed his lips over Alex's dark hair. Rubbed gentle circles over Alex's back, his big hand warming and soothing. 

 

"I'm all right, Walter," Alex said, burying his face in Walter's chest. 

Walter smiled. A sunny, free smile. 

 

"We're all right, Alex. You're not alone. This war is over. We've come home." 

 

 

_This War Is Over_

_Artist: Melissa Etheridge_

_Take off my shield_

_Carry my sword_

_I won't need it anymore_

_Find me a sky_

_Give me my wings_

_Frozen and broken but free_

_Tell them I'm all right_

_I'm coming home_

_Tell them I'm all right_

_I am alone_

_This war is over_

_I'm coming home_

_Take off my shame_

_Bury it low_

_I won't need it anymore_

_Find me the sun_

_Give me it whole_

_Melt all the chains in my soul_

_Tell them I'm all right_

_I'm coming home_

_Tell them I'm all right_

_I am alone_

_This war is over_

_I'm coming home_

_Take off my pain_

_Carry me slow_

_I won't fight here anymore_

_Tell them I'm all right_

_I'm coming home_

_Tell them I'm all right_

_I am alone_

_This war is over_

_I'm coming home_

 

 

***FIN***


End file.
